


Happy Halloween

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drag, Dresses, Gender Bent, Halloween, Heels, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 03:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21246977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: A quick writing prompt I made myself to in order to prove to myself that my depression hasn't gotten the best of me, and I CAN still write.This is an AU of sorts... where Doyal is OUR Version of Sherlock.The inspiration came from Anotherwellkeptsecret's porn stream this past friday, and if you are a patreon of her's you can see the art she drew. (I will see if I can get permission to share it here)





	Happy Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> its 10:30 pm, I should have been in bed an hour ago, I'm tired and this is un edited. But I wanted it up before Halloween, and my 10 hour workday tomorrow!

Two Weeks to the Party

“So, what are you going as?” Sherlock didn’t bother to look up from the microscope, and the slides containing various animal fluids. However, he did lift one long elegant hand into the air, an elaborate invitation embossed and colored for the season held between two long fingers just as John entered the kitchen, home from a long day at the clinic. John shrugged out of his coat, rolled his shoulders and felt his neck pop, then plucked the invitation out of Sherlock’s grip. He didn’t have to read it to know what it was. Two weeks before Halloween, it could only be one thing.

“Molly’s sent out invitations to her fancy dress party, eh? I’ll go if you’ll go.”

“Fine,” muttered Sherlock, much to John’s surprise. Knowing a trap for what it was, John quickly glanced at the invitation, read over this year's dress code, and groaned.

“Attire: Costumes required! Any costume will do, but this year’s theme is Gender Bent. Go big, or go home, or rather, stay home,” read the invitation, and John could almost just read it in Molly’s voice. 

“Gender bent? That means what I think it means, correct?”

“It means,” Sherlock said, a wicked smile on his face as he let his precious attention waiver to John’s stricken face, “my dear, I get to see you in a dress. Or a skirt. Your kilt is out, doesn’t qualify. So, I repeat, and you know how much I hate repeating myself, what are you going as?”

“I’ve only just found out, give me a mo.” John tossed the invitation down on the table and sank heavily into a chair. His shoulders ached, his neck felt like it had been holding up a cast iron head all day after spending his last two hours of his shift filling out an incident report after a lady lost track of her son and the six-year-old was found playing with, thankfully clean, hypodermic needles. “Nurse, probably,” he replied after two minutes. It was the first thing he could think of, first gender-bent costume that did not require a dress or skirt. “I already have scrubs, it should be easy to pull together.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and gave John a most reproachful look before returning to his microscope. “You’re already a Doctor, isn’t nurse more of a demotion rather than a costume? Plus, those scrubs have a bloodstain on the left pant cuff. We’ll have to get you a new costume.”

“Fine, fine.” John sighed, but a fond smile played over his face as he asked, “What about you? Hmm? Sexy Pirate, Wednesday Adams, you could pull that off you know, you’re pale enough, or what about that elf character in the new Hobbit movie. You’ve got the cheekbones for it.”

“Anderson,” Sherlock said, swapping one slide out for another with an intent look on his face.

“Anderson isn’t a woman,” John retorted with a snort, "well, not that I know of."

“But isn’t it tradition to go as the most frightening thing you can think of? I can’t think of a single more frightening thing to be than Anderson, that dim-witted git couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a banjo if he tried.”

“Gender-bent, Sherlock. Can’t go as Anderson. Plus, what would you do, print out a picture of his face and wear it as a mask? Bit dull, if you ask me. Like him.”

“Hold on,” Sherlock looked up from the microscope once more and gave John a once over, “You’re not afraid of nurses, are you?”

“Nope, just lazy, and cheap. Why pay for a costume if I’ve got all the parts for it.” John laughed and stood from the table, going to stand behind Sherlock and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Have this cleaned up in an hour, I’m going to take a bath, then I’ll make dinner.”

Sherlock grinned and held up a sealed sample that read Cow Semen. “Could make a good cream sauce.”

“Gross, Sherlock, just gross,” but he let out a short laugh before departing for a much-needed bath to let Sherlock know he found the suggestion humorous rather than offensive. 

One Week to the Party

“Is this really what they think he looked like?” Sherlock scowled at a particular costume and read the label aloud. “Adult Male Detective.” Pictured on the front of the packaging was a man dressed in a long tan checkered coat, a floppy cheap deerstalker, and a pipe. “Even the illustrators drew him with more dignity than that, fictional or not.” 

“Yes, yes, The Great Detective Arthur Conan Doyal was your childhood hero, and you wouldn’t have been inspired to solve your first case if you’d never read the books.” John recited, trying hard not to roll his eyes as Sherlock scoffed at the costume. “But it’s for men, you can’t wear that one. Come on, the Ladies is over here.”

Ten minutes later found them in the ladies section, glancing at a wall display which was covered in an array of sexy or humours attire. Sherlock had taken one glance at the wall then picked out a costume and held it out triumphantly to John with a look that said “Wear this or die”.

“I am not wearing that.” John folded his arms over his chest and shook his head in an incredibly firm No.

“If you do, I’ll wear this,” Sherlock said, pointing up to a costume in what was clearly a last-ditch effort to get his way.

“Swear to god?” John said, one eyebrow raised in almost consideration.

“Yes, I will go as,” Sherlock turned to look at the package, then with gritted teeth said, “Sexy Detective Doyal, if you go as a Sexy Nurse, it’s only one step away from your original costume, just, more ‘gender-bent’ this way. It’s a dress.” Sherlock made air quotes with his free hand, then let it drop to his side, “Do we have a deal?”

“A short dress, yes, but fine,” John said, grinding his teeth so hard he nearly felt one chip, “But no high heels.”

Day of the party

“You should have been more specific, John. You only said “No high heels, you never said who wouldn’t be wearing them. I'm much too tall to wear them if I'm to be seen in public with you." Sherlock grinned, having just come home from his mysterious vanishing acts while John had been shaving. Dangling off of two slender fingers were a pair of the reddest high heels John had ever seen. He loathed to admit it, but they did match the shockingly white and red Sexy Nurse outfit they’d picked up a few days earlier. 

“Do I even want to know how you know my shoe size, in ladies?” John sighed, waving a hand at Sherlock, and the shoes, and pointing to the pile on the sofa where the rest of their costumes lay in waiting. 

“I have my methods,” Sherlock shrugged, and put the heels on the pile, along with a pair of flat brown shoes that reminded John of a shoe pretending to be a ballet slipper. 

“Fine, but I’m drawing the line at makeup. I will not wear makeup for the sake of this party, or for any other reason,” John said, attempting to cover up any loopholes Sherlock might be able to think of, “You, however, can wear whatever you want. Now if you’ll just hurry up and kiss me, I’ve got to be off.”

“Working before the party? You’ll be grumpy.” Sherlock stopped just out of John’s reach and pouted, sidling back a step when John moved forward to steal his goodbye kiss. 

“I’ve just got to go in and cover Walden’s lunch. We’re down a Doctor this afternoon while Carpenter takes her kids out. I’ll be back before three o'clock.” 

“Promise?”

“Even if the tube breaks down and I have to crawl home on my hands and knees, I promise.” 

Sherlock grinned for the briefest of moments, ideas of what John might be doing on his hands and knees flashed through his mind, then he stepped forward and gave his husband a kiss.

“Thank you,” John said into the kiss, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Sherlock’s head, deepening the kiss for half a tick before remembering he was running late. “See you later, luv.”

Sherlock huffed in agreement and let John hurry off to work. 

Party Night: Getting Dressed

John held the short dress out against his body and glanced down at the hemline. Flat against his body like this, the hemline came to his knees, but he knew once he put the dress on, and filled it out so to speak, that hemline would be much, much shorter. His costume, as it turned out, came with the dress, a pair of knee-high gauzy white stockings that read “One size fits most”, gloves with the same sizing claims, an over-exaggerated nurses cap that pinned on with some sort of hair clip, the name of which escaped John’s limited knowledge of ladies hair supplies, and now thanks to Sherlock, matching red high heels. 

“You’re going to have to tuck and tape.” Sherlock said, eyeing him from his side of their bedroom where he was unpacking his costume.

“What?” Sherlock’s voice pulled John from his thoughts, in which he inflicting punishment on Sherlock for making him wear this. “Tuck and tape? Oh.. you mean…” John looked down at his pants and the bulge inside them. That would be a bit obvious in a form fitting dress. “That?”

“Yes, that. Articulate as always, Husband.” 

“Not happening, everyone at a party knows I’m a guy, and maybe finally it’ll get out that Sherlock Holmes is a size queen.” 

Shucking out of his white t-shirt that had been under his work shirt, John stood in just his pants and examined the dress. It had one long zip going up the back, and a small button, seemingly for decoration, just above the zip. Gingerly he stepped into the dress, taking care not to pull at the seams with his broader than the average woman sized hips, then wriggled his arms into the sleeves. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but get over here and zip me up.” John stood patiently as Sherlock padded over, naked as the day he was born, and zipped the back of the dress up, then did up the button. It was tight around the shoulders, loose in the chest a bit, and again tight in the hips, but not so tight that it would tear. The gloves, thankfully, didn't fit over John's hands. 

John looked down at the now shortened hemline and wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected, but it was much shorter than anything he’d worn previously. And that included the ridiculous shorts the military gave men to wear during PT in the warmer weather. His package was noticeable, but the end of the skirt flared out a little and all in all John didn’t think it was inappropriate. That is, until he saw Sherlock in his costume.

Sherlock’s costume consisted of a tanish brown crop top that only just covered his ribcage, it had a floppy mantle hanging over his shoulders, a cheap plastic magnifying glass and a matching mini skirt that only just covered Sherlock’s manhood. John didn’t want to admit it out loud, but it was hot. 

"How are we supposed to get into a cab dressed like this?" John asked, his voice betraying him as the question came out in a breathy huff. "We'll both be arrested. You for public indecency, and me for well…" he trailed off and looked down to where his cock was making itself known through the thin fabric of his dress. Sherlock smirked and tossed John a package. 

"It's called a tucking panty. Drag Queens use it all the time. Put it on, and I'll wear my coat over this until we get to Molly's." Sherlock gave John's erection a long, approving, stare then sighed as he picked up the effects of his costume. "We can so something about that later, after the party."

With that, Sherlock, pipe and magnifying glass in hand, strutted out of the bedroom, giving John quite the show as he purposefully swayed his hips with each step. 

John opened the package and found a pair of pants much like a ladies thong only it had room in the front for bits, made out of an extremely non stretchy material. It came with a set of instructions on how to properly tuck the penis down and away without cutting off blood flow and John found reading the instructions sufficiently ruined his erection. 

Five minutes later John joined Sherlock in the lounge, where Sherlock was already in his long grey coat. With his heels on, John noticed was only and inch or two shorter than his husband. He took advantage of the added height, walked straight up to Sherlock and kissed him without having to go on tiptoes. 

"I can't see it under that coat, but I know it's there. That costume is going to drive me wild," he whispered as he pulled away form the kiss. 

"So we go to the party, mingle a bit and then you claim that your body is aching all over," Sherlock whispered back, his voice deep and velvety, as he snaked a hand around John's body and grabbed a fist full of arse from under the dress, "Then we come home, and I'll take care of that ache for you. I can put you to bed and take extra good care of you."

Sherlock squeezed John's arse hard once then in a flurry of dark coat whirled away towards the stairs, calling over his shoulder in his normal voice, as if he hasn't just proposed a deviant sexual act, "Come on, John. The cab is waiting."

"Just going to grab my stethoscope. I'll meet you down there."

John took his time walking down the stairs, his legs felt wobbly and with the heels he found it hard to judge the distance between foot and step. "Don't know how women blood do that," he grumbled as he joined Sherlock on the pavement, where Sherlock was already opening the back door of a waiting cab. 

Party Night: The Party

"It's a bit silly, I know," Molly, dressed as Dracula, said with a laugh as she handed over the goodie bags, "but it was a tradition in my family when I was a kid. It just isn't Halloween without it. It's just a few pieces of candy, and one of those temporary tattoos," she explained as John examined the small cellophane baggie. 

"No it's, cute." John said reassuringly as he took Sherlock's bad, and Sherlock's coat, and put both his and Sherlock's bars inside one of the big pockets. He hung both their coats up on a coat rack then spun on his heels as Molly made a shocked squeak. 

"Oh! You… well you both look… well you brought the sex factor now didn't you. John your feet must be killing you."

"What, these old things?" John laughed and wiggled one of his heel flat feet, "these are my work shoes."

"Oh but of course," she laughed and shook her head ruefully, " well you two are going to be drawing quite a bit of attention to yourselves. But, I appreciate you sticking with the theme," she leaned in close and said in a conspiratorial whisper, I just wanted to see Tom in a dress, that's why I picked this theme."

"At least your intentions are pure." Sherlock whispered back, humoring Molly. Ever since he and John had married, Sherlock had been kinder to Molly The fight during their honeymoon about how Sherlock treated Molly and exploited her affection towards them had nothing to do with it, of course. 

John and Sherlock mingled and soon found that the only other party-goers they knew we're Greg Lestrade and Sally Donovan. Greg was stressed as a female patrol officer, no skirt required for that one the only thing that made it remotely feminine was a long red wig under his cap while Donovan was stressed as James Bond. 

"Well, if it isn't our favorite detective." Greg laughed, putting the inflection on the word detective to indicate he got the joke, "and his trusty sidekick Doctor Bell. You know, the irony was never lost on me that you went and found yourself a bonafide doctor. Just like the stories, eh?"

"It never crossed mind," Sherlock lied. "At least we put effort into our personas. Looks like the two of you just pulled yours out of the nearest closet. Tell me, Donovan, is that Anderson's suit. It must smell like mothballs and stupidity."

"Girls play nice," John rolled his eyes and gave Sally a quick apologetic smile, "and he said I would be grumpy today."

"Did you have to work, John?" Greg asked for the sake of changing the conversation. Ever since Sherlock's return from the dead, Sherlock had never quite forgiven Donovan for the part she had played. 

"Just a few hours," John replied as he covertly Sherlock towards the table ladened with halloween themed snacks. "Covered the lunch rush."

John got some food, albeit junk food, into Sherlock and, along with Greg (Sally had gone off after spotting an acquaintance) mingled and smiled as the younger crowd, people Molly's own age, partied around them. 

"God, we were that young once."

"Mm." Sherlock agreed, "now John has aches, and I actually sleep."

"Oi, aches. What aches?" John started to protest until his spiked punch addled mind caught up with the hint. "Ooohhh. Yeah. Occasionally."

Greg narrowed his eyes in bleary suspicion, but he'd had as much punch as John, so he just shook his head. 

They stick around for another half hour, and just before eleven John, yawning, turned to his husband and said, "I'm about ready if you are."

After Party, Party of Two: Alone at Baker Street 

"No. Keep them on," Sherlock commanded as John made the motions to kick off his red heels, "the only thing I want you to remove is those pants."

John stepped out of them gladly, letting them drop to the floor of the sitting room. They'd been too restricting, especially during the cab ride home, knowing what would happen once they were alone. In the process of losing his pants, the pinned cap fell off, taking a few hairs with it. 

"Good riddance," he muttered then heading a rustling noise looked towards where Sherlock was now seated on their coffee table. By where he'd been standing a moment ago lay an identical pair of pants and Sherlock now sat with his skirt rucked up as he stroked his cock to life. 

"There's just one thing missing. Get me one of those goodie bags." 

John cast Sherlock a confused look, but fished one of the plastic baggies out of Sherlock's coat pocket and tossed it over.

Sherlock tore into it and sunk a few long fingers of one hand into the narrow bag, then let out a little click of his tongue as he withdrew a piece of what John thought was paper. 

"Turn around, and bend over. Give me that arse of yours."

"Bossy much," John said, but soon found the action of bending forward in heels to be more difficult than he'd first thought. Something cold and wet was pressed to his left arse cheek and was quickly followed by a few licks of Sherlock's tongue. It was then that John remembered Molly saying she'd put temporary tattoos in the bag. 

"Oh God. What is it? A cartoon bat, or a ghost?" John stood and tried to turn around to get a look at what had just been stuck to him but was unable to see it, and the mirror above the fireplace was too high to be of any help. 

"It says," Sherlock began in a pleased voice, "Trick or treat, I believe I'll make you my treat tonight, husband,” his left hand still languidly stroking himself. “Unless you’d like to think of a trick? A disappearing act? One starring my cock, disappearing inside you?” 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were drunk.” John said, his tone playful, “And to think, if you’d gone as Anderson this never would be happening.”

John stepped forward so he was standing between Sherlock’s legs. The heels made it so he had to bend forward before their lips could meet and he cupped Sherlock’s head in his hands, his fingers disappearing beneath the deerstalker and sinking into inky black curls. John kissed Sherlock within an inch of his life, it wasn’t until Sherlock’s breath was coming in shallow gasps did he let up with one final nip at Sherlock’s bottom lip. Before Sherlock had time to react, or to catch his breath John had planted a solid hand on the center of Sherlock’s sternum and pushed. Not too hard, but just hard enough that Sherlock lost his balance and ended up with his back sprawled over the coffee table, hands flat on the floor between the table and the sofa, feet still where they’d been minutes before. 

Sherlock had a habit, one that John was constantly chiding him for, of leaving bottles of lube laying around the flat. Normally it was not an issue, that is until Mrs. Hudson had found one and given John a look that would have made a Nun look like a kitten. Then there was the time Sherlock had left a bottle between the sofa cushions, and they’d gotten a client who, for twenty five minutes sat within inches of the bottle. Tonight, however, John was thankful for Sherlock’s inability to put things away. Or maybe, he thought absently, as he picked the bottle up off the tiny table in their lounge, Sherlock had planned for this and had placed it there on purpose. 

“Seeing it’s now tattooed on my arse, I think I’ll pick… Shall I trick? John said, stepping back from Sherlock to survey the sight. His husband lay just where he put him, chest heaving causing the cape like mantel of the crop top to shift around his shoulders. “Or shall I treat?” 

John brushed his fingers over the head of Sherlock’s cock, biting his tongue and hold back a laugh when Sherlock all but shivered out of his own skin.

“I love seeing you like this, so needy. I think I’ll treat tonight.” 

With that he flipped the lid off of the bottle and squirted a liberal amount of lube into his palm. He warmed it for a second, then took Sherlock in his hand and began a slow rhythm of pull and twist, pull and twist, drawing out another shiver and moan from his husband. He coated Sherlock’s length with the slick, sweet smelling lube, then poured out a little more. This time onto his fingers, and he reached behind himself, careful not to smudge the tattoo, and coated his entrance. 

John took only the briefest of moments to sink his fingers inside himself. As long as things were properly lubricated, and they went slow, he knew from experience that he didn’t need to prepare himself much. Sherlock’s length was long, but the girth was like the rest of himself. Long and thin, and it was perfect.

With a click of his red heels, John turned so his back was facing Sherlock, braced himself with his right hand on Sherlock’s thigh and slowly lowered himself until his arse met cock.

“Help me out, hm?” He said, his tongue sticking out in concentration as Sherlock lifted one had up off the floor to help guide his cock. Once the head was lined with his hole, John bobbed down a bit, feeling the burn in his thighs from the heels. How did women deal with these things? He thought for half a moment, until Sherlock’s head was pressing inside him and all thoughts vanished. 

He pulled off, not out of pain, but because he knew it would drive his husband insane. Sherlock knew better than to take when John was so clearly in control of the situation. So, after a full count to ten, John lowered himself down again, this time taking a fraction more of Sherlock’s length inside him, then he pulled off and grinned as Sherlock bit out a curse of frustration.

“Who said I can’t get my trick in at the same time?” John’s voice was husky, and it fell around Sherlock like a cloak. Sherlock moaned and with his eyes closed leaned his head back.

That went on for nearly a full minute, until the burning in John’s legs warned him that he could not keep up this position forever. So on the next downward motion, he sheathed Sherlock’s full length inside him in one solid movement. Sherlock opened one eye long enough to see John, looking back over his shoulder at him, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth with a hormone-drunk look on his face. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he said, then before replacing his hand on the floor he lifted the back of John’s dress up so he had a clear view of his arse. Once both hands where planted flat on the floor, he found he had the perfect leverage to lift his hips up off the coffee table and soon was matching John’s movements with quick precise snaps of his hips. 

John began bobbing up and down, fast enough that the stethoscope, which was still around his neck, began swaying in the air. His dress threatened to ride back down, so with his left hand he gripped at the fabric and held it against his thigh as he continued to move. 

It all happened so fast, for which his legs were thankful, Sherlock’s breathing quickly went from fast to gasps of air between moans and John knew he was close. He added a roll to his hips just before he pulled up, knowing he’d regret it, lifted his support hand off of Sherlock’s thigh to grip at his own aching cock. It took maybe a minute longer before Sherlock’s movements became uncoordinated and he let out a sharp cry.

John bobbed up and down once more, electing another shudder from his husband, then, supporting himself now with his left hand on Sherlock’s trembling knee, brought himself to orgasm with Sherlock still inside him. Sherlock let out a shaky laugh, and while John wanted nothing more than to roll over, or whatever the equivalent might be, his thighs ached from the position.

He stood carefully, thankful that the endorphins created by their act were doing their part to numb the ache his legs surely would be feeling tomorrow. John kicked off the heels, letting out a sigh of relief and padded into the kitchen in stocking clad feet. He first washed his hands, washing his semen down the drain, then grabbed a towel and wiped at a spot that had hit his leg, then ran it between his cheeks, cleaning up the mess Sherlock had made there. Rather than dirting two towels, he brought that one over to Sherlock. He used a clean corner of the towel on his husband then tossed it to the floor.

“Come on, Husband, to bed with us.” 

Sherlock, still laying back flat on the coffee table, smiling like a fool, flung one hand up into the air and John took it, helping him to his feet. 

“I think Halloween might be my favorite holiday,” Sherlock said around a yawn as John lead him towards the bedroom. “In fact, it now is.”


End file.
